Baby Trinity
by manhattan martini
Summary: Green has a problem. Its name is Catwoman. — AU


**A/N:** Thanks to _lark_ for betaeing.  
**Fandom****:** Pokémon x Batman  
**Characters:** Pokédex holders, villains, miscellaneous characters.  
**Genre****:** Action/friendship/general  
**Summary:** Green has a problem. Its name is "Catwoman".  
**Rating: **T

**The Baby Trinity Incident  
Chapter I – In Which Things Go Bad**

* * *

_"Always forgive your enemies. Nothing annoys them so much."_

- Oscar Wilde

* * *

If there was anything Samuel Oak had learned never to speak of in front of his grandson, it was about the Oak's family very own … noodle incident. The name had been coined – obviously – from the comic strip Green had been so delighted to read in his childhood. "Ah, yes," Oak thought with a nostalgic smirk, sitting down by the living room; back when Green was but a serious little boy with an attitude problem. Back when … his own daughter hadn't been killed. Oak sighed – he was turning into Green …

The Oak family's very own noodle incident – The Baby Trinity Affair, as named by Robin – had unfortunately developed from what once had been a joke into a full-fledged case of paranoia. It was normal – and _satisfying_ – that Green would work so hard and so much, when it greatly benefited the city. However, there was a thin line that separated _duty _from _stalker-syndrome_, a thin line that Green was already used to jumping over. It was so regular that the expression "rope-jumping" soon became a code for Batgirl, Robin and anyone else related to the family's business – it meant that he'd stopped crossing over the boundaries and had actively begun to play rope with the frontier lines.

The last time that had happened, Scarecrow had been the main offender. It had become a crisis, and Oak had sat by and watched Green deal with it in his own way (since he never took up any advice anyway). They'd spent a fortune on coffee that one week. But Scarecrow was … well, Scarecrow – Scarecrow wasn't a thief, she was a psychopath with control over people's greatest fears …

Green was still worked over The Baby Trinity Affair. Why? Because it had been stolen right from under his nose, by a buxom beauty wearing spandex. Had it been a crook – a villain – a customary rogue, Batman would have simply worked his way over to them, as usual. But since it was not a customary, anonymous bandit, but a rogue in the making … Oak leaned back on the couch, opened a book and sighed, before rereading the wonderfully dull history of Kanto. He stared at the grandfather's clock just by the impressive bookshelf; Green would be arriving home in a few hours.

Maybe, he considered, as he flipped a page absently, his grandson needed a girlfriend.

* * *

It was a fitting end to a bad night, Batman supposed.

His night had started with a heist – they were perfect idiots, who took more than fifteen minutes just to get the alarm down (when _she_ could've done it in less than two) – then followed with some kind of mass-pillage at Celadon plaza. The mass pillage was nothing but a distraction; the Silph Corp. president had been kidnapped. And Batman hadn't really … managed to _help_. If it hadn't been for Robin and Batgirl, the Dark Knight would've been publicly humiliated. It seemed – he thought, as he stumbled over the exquisite alarms of Cartier's building – that the rogues around him were readying themselves for war. He recognized Harley Quinn, Joker's favourite companion, in the midst of the mass of people, directing them to the most expensive items. The one responsible for kidnapping the president had been none other than the Joker, aided by two anonymous henchmen.

If he could, he'd get their names as soon as he got home. Thankfully, that was done with.

The problem was … he didn't know he could get to the manor. Batman was fairly sure that he'd twisted his arm, and he'd need Grandpa's help putting it in place, so using hooks or ropes to move faster was out of the question. His elbow was sore as _hell_, like Robin would put it. At least it was dark, and no one could actually see the caped crusader stumble like a little child as he dragged himself through the roofs. It'd been a rough night, and he'd been stupid enough not to bring his car … plus, Robin and Batgirl had already gone (in fact, Batgirl had left rather early – he would have to see into that later), so he wouldn't have help. Maybe if he weren't so proud, he'd request help from Oracle, but showing weakness was unacceptable. He had an image to keep, after all. He also had a sharp pain shooting through his left leg.

"Rough night?" It came from his right. Batman didn't even stop. Ignoring the enemy was a crap move, he knew, but he just couldn't find it in himself to actually _care_ about Catwoman – civilian name unknown so far – at the moment. "I take it from your silence you don't care about these gorgeous pearl earrings I just stole. They're a genuine Mikimoto. Blue. _Gorgeous_. Aquamarine earrings – thirty-nine thousand. Not bad for one night, I guess."

He came to a halt, and considered his chances: she could be bluffing for a piece of his attention, or she could be serious. Out of his enemies, she was … one of the quirkiest. Couldn't beat the Joker of _course, _but no one ever got around to being as crazy as _he_ was. But the Joker didn't have a reason, or, if he did, it was stupid and incomprehensible. Catwoman's reasons were there, and they were _good_. She was very good. The problem was, he only understood her reasons after she was done with the crime of the moment.

"I'm really not in the mood," Batman said, in his flattest voice. He could feel his leg throbbing, and silently hoped that she wouldn't make him chase after her. His finger hooked on his Oracle-com and he turned to glance at her. "Is this a bluff or do I actually need to take you in?"

"You can try, of course." She was smirking. She found the situation _funny_. "I've got two, this time. I've brought – along with the aquamarine ones, they are gorgeous! – traditional class earrings. Also from Mikimoto. Nine thousand. Beautiful in a simple way. I usually go for something more … priceless and shaz_am_, you know?"

_Please check yourself into Cinnabar Mansion,_ was what Batman wanted to say. Instead, he just called for Oracle. When the man – finally – picked up, Batman's order was sour and short: "Dispatch Batgirl here. I have a situation."

"Can't it be Robin?" – came the immediate reply.

Batman eyed the tight, black spandex outfit when Catwoman wasn't looking, making some calculations. When it became clear that Catwoman's breasts would eventually get in the way of Robin's female-oriented life … "No. It can't be Robin. I'm giving her ten minutes."

"Fine," Oracle said with a small sigh, like he knew just who he was dealing with. He probably did, actually – after all, he was in Batman's team just because of _that_. Information and computers, his forte. Snooping around and awkwardly flirting with his sister was just a bonus – for which Batman was _not_ paying him. "She'll be there in nine. Oracle out."

He turned towards her once more, putting the intercom back on his utility belt. Nine minutes with her was too much. Hell, a single minute with her was too much.

"Sending the tiny chicks out? Batman," she said, pouting cutely, "I'm disappointed in you. It's like you're not up to the challenge."

He knew better than to actually give into her taunts. Batman stepped towards her with a frown (albeit he didn't know whether she could see he was rather pissed, because of the cowl) and held out his hand. "I'm giving you nine minutes for you to give me the jewels. Otherwise, Batgirl will take care of you."

"Yeah." She snorted. "I'd like to see _that_." It was a take-that to him and to the rest of his family in general. He chose to ignore it, as usual with everything related to her. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask! How's that Baby Trinity thing working out for you?" Catwoman smiled sweetly.

Batman checked his Oracle-com. T-minus five. He was almost done with her. _Almost done_. He didn't know why she irritated him so much, really. He supposed she wasn't much of an evil nemesis, but more of a normal cat-burglar used to showing off some skin, used to dazzling some men. Batman wasn't … a man. He was an entity of justice and he was deeply annoyed by someone who wasn't evil – just travelled the evil path. Because she matched the profile of rich girl with deep-seated issues. According to his data bank, there were no twenty-year old women with rich families – _and_ brown hair (he knew she wasn't wearing a wig – he'd analysed a stray hair once). The socialites' colour of choice was blond.

"Are you ignoring me, B? That saddens me. I am genuinely sad." She jumped from the chimney she'd been sitting on for the past few minutes – T-minus four now – and landed quietly on the rooftop. "You know, if we worked together, we'd be invincible. Can you imagine? The Bat and The Cat. We even rhyme." She stepped nearer. He could see her vibrant blue eyes now, underneath her black mask. "You should consider it, sometime." She looked down, ran a hand across his arm. Batman just barely held a sigh of fatigue; he clenched his jaw trying not to yawn. T-minus three, and fifteen minutes to four AM. He was tired and moody and she was misinterpreting it for some kind of yearning.

"Batman," Batgirl called from behind, fresh on the spot. T-minus two; he'd have to congratulate her, later.

"Take care of her for me. We should have two pairs of Mikimoto earrings. Ones are blue, the others are pearl." Catwoman purred happily, in no doubt pleased that he knew that the traditional class earrings were made out of pearl. "Call Oracle when you're done."

Batgirl nodded tightly, getting into position. Batman stepped away from Catwoman with not so much of a blink. And, against all what his good sense – which sounded suspiciously close to Grandpa's voice – told him, he grabbed his hook and fired. The painful, bone-shattering sensation made its way onto his arm immediately after he jumped, headed to Oak manor.

* * *

Green bit down on his tongue when Oak snapped his arm back into place. He cursed the Joker – and all his henchmen – under his breath. Then, he cursed Grandpa; the man was having too much fun snapping him back into health.

"You could stop smiling," Green murmured acidly, and then returned to brooding silence. Oak's hands left his shoulder blade and focused on his right arm. He made a small clicking sound with his tongue before reaching for the binding tape.

"I am not smiling," Oak said, unwrapping the tape from the metal roll and wrapping it around his arm. The small plastic clock marked five twenty. "Green Oak is supposed to have a business meeting tomorrow morning." He pulled tighter. Green bit harder. "From eight to eleven. After that – " he paused, reached for the scissors, finished the bindings delicately. " – you're supposed to check up on Gold. I don't think he escaped completely unhurt from the mass protest. It should take you half an hour to see whether he's being stubborn or confident." Green opened his hand and closed it. The pain wasn't unbearable, but he would skip patrol today. Maybe he'd call Red, see if he could cover for him, just for two hours. "Crystal has something for you, too – she says she struggled a pair of aquamarine earrings out of Catwoman. She's delivered them to the police, as well."

"What does she need, then?"

"For you to appear in career day."

There was an awkward pause.

" … They still have that in college?"

"High school, Green," Oak tactfully corrected.

"She's in high school?"

"Yes, Green. She's a senior." Oak packed up the first aid supplies neatly and then made to get out of the Batcave. "I've made you coffee and a toast. I'm turning in, now. Have a good night, son."

"Yes, Grandpa." Green opened his hand again, wondered whether he'd have the patience to stand up in front of a class of hyperactive, hormone-filled kids. Damn. Grandpa could've told him that _before_, or something. Maybe it wasn't his idea, anyway. Crystal wasn't the most cunning of the group because … well, that was Gold's job. But – he wouldn't put it beneath her to manipulate Grandpa into forcing _him_ into going to her … career day, was it? _Hmm._

The man got up and made way for the kitchen, where he found a cup full of coffee and a plate of toast. The butter was just beside it. As he searched for a knife in the spacious kitchen, he thought. What did Crystal want him to say? That he was a businessman? A millionaire? What was her connection to him, anyway? With Gold – it was non-existent. Robin was Gold, but it ended there. There wasn't anything in which Green and Gold were connected. With Crystal, it was different. Sometimes, she would ask him for resources – namely, his computer, the one with the city plans and the incredibly detailed files of almost every single citizen in Kanto – or, in more extreme cases, she would ask him for permission to use the extensive library … or even Grandpa's biology knowledge.

She – whether he wanted it or not – was part of his life. Like an annoying little sister, and, frankly, Daisy was more than enough for the sibling role.

When he was done with his breakfast, he glanced at his wristwatch. He had two hours until eight.

* * *

When Crystal woke up, she felt slightly light-headed and nauseous (and very, very tired), and couldn't help but to blame it on Batman. When Bill had called her, his Australian accent slightly apologetic, at _three forty nine_, she knew her plans were as good as nothing.

She'd left patrol early, even, because she would have an important day ahead of her.

Career Week.

Career Week was to her what Hell Month was to Batman. As usual, her mom was … out. Always out, always missing, returning home thrice a year (but calling once a week). It was expected of her to bring an adult to school – like she couldn't handle it on her _own_, as usual? – and she was fresh out of adults.

She would have to be thankful for Green, she'd supposed. And now, a night after she'd quit patrol early, just so that she could plan things … she was near panic. If it weren't for her being _called_ at _three_—_forty—nine—in—the—morning_, she would have planned everything perfectly. As it were, after she had just plopped onto her bed after a quick shower, incredibly tired from chasing Catwoman around.

Catwoman. He'd asked her to deal with _Catwoman_. Catwoman! She was Bat_girl_, not Bat_man_. It was obvious that most crimes she would indulge in were for herself. Jewellery, paintings … expensive shoes. She was selfish, but also very clever. She'd drive both Bats _and_ Green insane. So why had he asked _Batgirl_ – the calm, responsible and cute girl of the troupe – to deal with her? Crystal wasn't going to be oblivious and wonder – why hadn't he called Robin? She wasn't stupid. She knew that, if Robin was completely smitten with her own _derrière_, then he would go bats – no pun intended – with Catwoman in whole. But he had Superman! Superman could have been there in two minutes, maybe less. Why – _why_ had he disrupted her perfect plans for some stupid earrings? Crystal fumed quietly as she sipped her coffee. It was much too hot, so she set the cup down as she reached for the customary hangover-breakfast (bacon and eggs). So, he wouldn't notify her about a mass protest – and he would notify _Robin, _the one with no tactical knowledge – but he would ask her to deal with a gymnast extraordinaire – and he wouldn't notify _Robin_, the only kid her age she'd seen jumping from building to building, doing backflips, performing stunning acrobatics, and etcetera.

The whole night had gone badly.

It wasn't Green's fault, though. It was Batman's. If Batman hadn't been stupidly proud, Crystal mused, pouring milk into her coffee_ (too bitter, eugh)_, he'd dispatched someone like Superman. Because Red could have been there in _two_ minutes. And now, she was panicking and mentally distressed.

And yet, she'd bullied Professor Oak into bullying Green into coming to Career Week.

She sipped her coffee and smiled contently.

* * *

He'd had the misfortune of running in with Daisy as he was getting out. The woman – who was most definitely texting _Bill_ – glanced at him, then at his arm, and frowned. "You were out until late. I didn't hear you arrive, Green."

"You never do." He balanced the paper cup Daisy gave him – fresh from Starbucks, she was – on his leg as he searched for the keys to the Porsche.

He didn't exactly have a favourite car … but if he had, then it would be the Porsche. Porsche Panamera turbo with 19" design wheels (the full-colour crest included). "Basalt black metallic" colour, the "two-tone black/platinum grey" leather seats. The wireless telephone module, the SAT radio receiver (tweaked to receive Oracle's frequency wave), the voice control system, the electronic logbook for Green to know who was who and whether that who actually _mattered_ as he drove towards the never-ending charity parties. All, for one hundred, forty-six thousand, seven hundred and ten dollars. And the best part? It didn't purr too loudly. It would slide, undetected, just like the Batmobile.

Daisy just sighed as she fished the keys out of his pocket. "You're wearing Armani. Business meeting?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to know why Oak Labs is suddenly diving in the stock market."

"And do you?"

"Of course I do," Green said bitterly, sliding into the car. "I'm Batman," he added then, quietly smirking, and watched Daisy giggle as she returned to the house.

* * *

After his fifth cup of coffee and after three hours of business, Green felt tired. He did. It didn't help that his arm would occasionally go numb from the bindings, or that every single handshake made his nervous system go to hell.

Green Oak had one hell of a poker face – he was just that good – and that was, in fact, the reason as to why no one noticed he had his arm all screwed (like Robin had put it last night). As he exited the main meetings' room, he thought. He had to visit Gold, and then cover up for Crystal. He checked his watch and cringed at the movement (he considered switching it to the other wrist); it marked eleven-thirty. He was late for Gold, who was – according to the timetable on his PDA – already in school. Crystal, however, was also in school, and had texted him with details concerning the so dreaded Career Week.

_You should get here at noon. Robin has asked for you, but he wouldn't tell me what for. I think his left wrist is twisted, but he didn't give. In case you decide on crashing our psychology class – which is occurring now, from eleven-forty to twelve-twenty – you're free to do so._

Short and practical. He liked it, and walked towards the elevator, pointedly ignoring his secretary, who had been trying to get him to appear at some charity event for the whole meeting.

Fifteen minutes later, he was barging into Dervish High School.

Dervish High School, while not entirely acceptable as a location he was fond of, was still the high school Green had attended. Sadly, after a whopping seven years, it was still the same. The lockers hadn't changed, the bathrooms were still vandalized, and the principal was still the same cheerful, slightly incompetent man he'd been when Green went to school there. Earl Dervish hadn't changed one bit. He still blabbed on how the Dervish family had founded the school, and even after six generations of Dervishes …

Green had tuned out after that. He hadn't asked for the guided tour around the school—he _knew_ the school better than Earl Dervish himself. He doubted that the moustached gentleman was aware that his school housed an emergency Batcave, just under the infirmary (tap the hollow wooden panel on the wall, the one with the dent on it and slide to the left).

By the time the two men had passed for the same set of stairs for the third time, Green politely excused himself and walked out to find Crystal's classroom. He'd wasted at least half an hour listening to the old man's gibberish, and now he didn't know whether he'd arrive on time. Crystal would stay inevitably mad at him; for arriving late and not having a sense of responsibility, when "she was out there _every_! _single_! _night_! fighting alongside him and Robin". It wasn't his idea, anyway. Gold – well – the boy was clever and he fought handsomely; Green admitted to have recruited them a few years back, when they met. Crystal was but an add-on. She had brains, and that was the reason as to why she'd tracked them both down. He still remembered finding her on a rooftop (the rooftop with the gargoyles, his favourite), nervously grinning, nervously playing with her hair. Of course that, once he denied her plead to work alongside him (for the experience? He'd never been so offended and pissed off before), she resorted to blackmail. She … was terrific.

So basically, she'd blackmailed him into becoming Batgirl. And now, she'd blackmailed Grandpa into blackmailing him into attending some stupid Dervish Career Week.

He was going to get back at her. Not in a physical way, and certainly not in an over-the-top dramatic way, but he was going to make her slightly irritated. He was going to make her lose control of something – he just needed to figure out what.

* * *

She was so dead. She was _so_ dead.

Crystal grabbed her bag and ran towards the locker rooms. She was already running late, and she couldn't risk missing her soccer practice and angering Flannery – who was irritable, lately – especially not after the Career Week fiasco. Okay, so, she'd pissed Green off. At least the whole ordeal was done with; now he'd put her on patrol with just Robin, or would make her tail suspicious people just because he wanted to piss her off.

She didn't know he would get so prissy about talking about his job! It was a boring, normal, millionaire job—he wasn't supposed to be a prick about it. She took off her sweatshirt quickly, her eyes darting out to check her wristwatch – she was late oh _god_ – and fumbled with the crappy locker from the gym until it finally opened.

With a huff, she threw everything inside and ran out to the fields, where Flannery warmly welcomed her with a cold frown.

* * *

"Glad to see you could join us." He was being sarcastic. Great. Batgirl bit down on the inside of her cheek, but her eyes didn't stray from Batman's. So _what_ if he was going to be upset about talking to a _classroom?_ Oh, of course, it was fine to bash people's head into brick walls and then drop them off at the Power Plant penitentiary, but being a normal person? How _dared_ she make him act like he wasn't a costumed, paranoid, asshole vigilante?

"Yes," she replied dryly. Robin was trying – evidently – his best not to laugh behind Batman. "Okay, I'm sorry. If this is going to make you angry about me, then I'll patrol alone." She mentally added, _and I'll be better off alone, too_. Because he was a prick! And a hypocritical one, at that: _you can't work alone, go with Robin, but I can work alone because I'm Batman. Oh, but if Catwoman comes into the mix, then you _should _work alone, because I'm busy brooding and being egoistical._

She caught herself in time to realize she was glaring daggers at the floor. Robin put his arm around her neck with a grin. "Come off it, it's not that bad. At least you'll be with me. Just another sign that we are completely made to be, you know? Robin and Batgirl, the perfect match."

Batgirl elbowed him in the ribs, softly, but with enough force to make him _get away_ from her. She was already upset, she didn't need Robin's constant physical contact to remind her she was going to be stuck with his irresponsible, childish, able-to-get-himself-into-danger self. He called it destiny; she called it punishment. It was, for once, fairly obvious that all Robin – read: Gold – was trying to do at the moment was finally get a girlfriend. It was normal; they were teenagers, they were hormonal. The thing was, Batgirl – or, rather, Crystal – channelled all the usually upsetting energy into doing something. She practiced soccer, was the class representative, took care of herself properly (chocolates and buckets of ice cream were for the bimbos that usually sat next to her in world history, thank _you_). And then there was the fact that she was also Batgirl and would inevitably rely on coffee just to _live_ through the day.

Well, that was all very fine. Unlike _some_ people, she didn't channel her frustrations and customary bitterness into hitting on girls and/or slacking off. So he was Robin; that didn't mean he didn't have to be anything else. _I mean_, she thought, _does he plan on being a costumed vigilante forever? That doesn't pay bills_. Sure, Green could afford to, seeing as he made millions per day, but Gold had a GPA of 2.6 – whereas she had one of 3.8. Well, he moved well enough to be something like a physical education teacher, but …

" – you understand?"

She nodded easily, since she was used to ignoring things from Batman when he was in a foul mood, and turned to shoot her grappling hook into something. Robin followed with a grin, his black hair wild in the breeze. Batgirl chided herself for caring for a delinquent and then dropped to the National Park, satisfied to finally be out of Batman's way.

"You didn't hear a god damn thing, did you?"

"Of course I did," Batgirl said, like she was _offended_.

"Considering he spent the whole fifteen minutes talking shit about your – " he did air quotes with his gloved fingers, " – _infantile_ _manners_, I wouldn't have thought that."

* * *

He knew Batgirl hadn't heard to a word he'd said, but for once he was willing to let it slide. She'd been obviously afflicted by the Career Week incident, but that still didn't give her an excuse to behave like _Robin_. For pity's sake, he trusted _her_ to be the responsible, down-to-earth one, and then she turned and _blackmailed him_? This wasn't how it worked. He was Batman. He had to have – no, he _needed_ to have control over his two followers. God knew dealing with Oracle was frustrating enough, when the man decided to have a shyness/attitude attack over the most insignificant things (like Batman cared whether he'd missed The Big Bang Theory's latest episode).

His arm was still hurt, and it occasionally went numb. He had, of course, complete mastery over the grappling hook, even with his left hand, but it wasn't the same. It didn't feel right. Batman brooded and went to crouch by his favourite building corner. The view from the Silph warehouses was perfect; he wouldn't trade it for anything. Not even the Cartier's building downtown, where that bitchy, snarky, _catty_ woman used to prowl about. Not even the Ice Path's high, polished roof was good enough, since the Penguin would always eventually try to kill him, or something equally stupid and mindless. Batman huffed. He was sulking like some god-damned teenager, that's what he was doing.

He got up and stretched, feeling something pop in his back. The city had been calm – which in itself was eerie. He suspected something was up ever since the mass robbery at Silph, but after that … a calm. A calm before the storm. Batman was torn between taking a break and becoming obsessive. It was like the Rogues had suddenly decided to take vacations. He hadn't seen Poison Ivy for a month now—not even when Azzone Corp. threatened to mow down the Ice Caves (historical patrimony, and Ivy's place of interest). She hadn't appeared, not even when the place she'd once destroyed half the city for was being torn apart. And then there was Joker and Harley, who, despite having thrown a mutiny just three days ago, were quieting down. The only one still remotely active was the Penguin, and even though he was a criminal mastermind … he was too busy running the Ice Path to actually commit any crimes.

Batman didn't know whether to be disappointed or joyous. When there were no eco-terrorists to throttle or gymnasts to punch, where did that leave him? All he had to do now was … the Baby Trinity Affair and/or the pearl earrings Batgirl had failed to regain. He cringed. Either way, he would have to deal with Her.

Batman allowed himself a moment of Green's sour disposition.

… She was just _so_ annoying.


End file.
